


a new year's eve trifecta

by givebackmylifecas



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Meetings, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, New Year's Eve, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28432596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givebackmylifecas/pseuds/givebackmylifecas
Summary: Just 3 times Martín and Andrés spend New Year's Eve together
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 12
Kudos: 55





	a new year's eve trifecta

**I**

The music in the ballroom where the University’s annual New Year’s Eve party is being held is loud, too loud for anything more than casual conversations shouted into the ears of strangers. The stranger that Martín is currently shouting at smiles crookedly when Martín says he’s new to Barcelona.

“I’d never have guessed,” he says sarcastically and Martín scowls – he never realised he had an accent until he came here. “Don’t look so upset, there’s nothing wrong with having an accent. When I travel, I find being recognisably foreign lends a certain exotic allure.”

Martín’s scowl smooths out into a smirk. “And how do you feel about my exotic allure?”

The man opens his mouth to answer, when they’re interrupted by a slender hand appearing on his bicep. It is quickly followed by the rest of its owner, a tall, willowy blonde woman who is about as Spanish as Martín, which is to say not at all.

“Andrés,” she says to the man, her voice both husky and heavily accented. “I can’t believe you just abandoned me with those horrendous bores – who invited the historians to this function?”

Martín laughs at her complaint to distract himself from the disappointment that clearly this stranger is not going to be available for a kiss and maybe more at midnight.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she exclaims, turning to look at Martín. “You’re not from the history department, are you?”

“Definitely not,” he replies and holds out his hand. “Martín Berrote – I’m finishing off my PhD in Mechanical Engineering.”

The woman takes his hand with a relieved smile. “Eva Schürmann, I don’t work at the university, I’m just escorting my fiancé.”

Martín turns his attention back to the man she had called Andrés. “So, you’re an academic then?”

“Not at all,” he says with a laugh. “I like to consider myself a lover of many arts, but I was never able to tie myself to one. I was invited because I helped procure some artwork for the Dean.”

Martín nods politely, somewhat disconcerted by how Andrés’ dark eyes seem to be studying him, even as his fiancée continues to make small talk.

“You’re a mechanical engineer?” he suddenly asks, interrupting Eva who frowns, seemingly unimpressed by his rudeness.

“Yes,” Martín says cautiously. “Why?”

“And is this all purely theoretical and academic or are you an actual engineer?” Andrés questions.

Martín scowls even as Eva scolds the other man. “I’m an actual engineer. I worked at a security solutions company for a couple of years to finance coming here and I assure you Señor –“ he hesitates, realising he doesn’t know Andrés’ last name.

“De Fonollosa,” he offers with a blinding smile.

Martín blinks, but continues. “I assure you, Señor de Fonollosa, I am very, very good at what I do.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Andrés smirks smugly. “In that case, would you be open to doing some consulting in the coming weeks?”

Around them, a countdown has started and Martín narrows his eyes suspiciously. “I suppose so.”

“Perfect,” Andrés says with a wide smile and offers Martín his card. “We’ll set something up next week then.”

Martín takes the card from him. It just has Andrés’ name and number embossed on it in ridiculous calligraphy – no job title or address of any kind.

“Alright.”

He pockets the card and shakes Andrés’ hand which is held out to him, just as the crowd of drunken academics erupts into cheers and jubilatory shouts of “Happy New Year”. Andrés’ fingers briefly tighten around his and then they’re sliding away again as he turns and kisses Eva full on the mouth.

Martín swallows his bitterness and turns his back to them. Across the room, he spies Ray from the theoretical physics department staring at him with intent, though he blushes when Martín winks at him. Martín stalks towards him and ignores the sharp-cornered card poking his thigh through the thin pocket of his slacks - and the man who gave it to him. He doubts anything will come of whatever consulting job Andrés is offering and clearly the man isn’t interested in him for anything else – he might as well see what an evening with Ray has to offer.

* * *

**II**

Martín is in a foul mood as he drains his whiskey, slamming the glass so hard onto the bar he risks cracking it and gesturing for another. The bartender is at least a decade younger than him and looks terrified as he hurries to fetch him another drink.

“What’s wrong with you?” Andrés asks, appearing next to him like he’s been summoned by Martín mistreating glassware.

Martín shakes his head, unwilling to answer and accepts his new drink from the bartender. The problem is that Andrés is the problem. Andrés and his… bride. Well, the latest one anyway. When Andrés had disappeared the week before Christmas, abandoning Martín to spend the holidays either alone or with Sergio and his unfortunate excuse of a girlfriend, Martín hadn’t expected him to return with a wife. Certainly not one that he’d only known for six weeks.

“When you meet the one, you know it immediately and you’re certain forever,” Andrés had declared passionately when he returned, before dragging Martín, Sergio, and his new wife Julie out to a bar where he’d gathered as many friends and acquaintances as he could.

At least Andrés had opened a tab for them all, which was honestly the only reason Martín had agreed to go. Because Martín hadn’t known the one the minute he met him, in fact he’d found Andrés slightly obnoxious and arrogant and certainly overbearing when it came to the task of the security system he’d asked Martín to dismantle. But eight years later, he was at least certain that Andrés was the one – and he was equally certain that he’d never get to have him, not in the same way his string of girlfriends and wives did.

“Martín!” Andrés repeats angrily, when he realises he’s being ignored. “What is going on with you? It’s New Year’s Eve and practically my wedding reception. You’re being rude – and a poor excuse for a best man.”

Martín takes an overlarge gulp of his drink. “I thought your brother would be your best man.”

“Well Sergio didn’t enjoy his role at the last wedding,” Andrés shrugs. “Besides, you’re my best friend, of course you’re my best man.”

“Shouldn’t your best man be informed of the wedding before it happens?” Martín asks.

Andrés sighs. “Is that what this is about? I’m sorry our Christmas plans were postponed, but I had to follow true love.”

“Without saying goodbye or even leaving a note?” Martín hisses. “It’s embarrassing the way you go running after these women.”

Andrés’ expression clouds and his body tenses. “Martín,” he warns. “I’ll ignore those last words because you’re drunk and maybe I should have been more considerate.”

“Maybe?” Martín repeats incredulously. “You fucked off two days before Christmas and left me alone, just because your latest whore called and you’re so desperate for people to love you that you’ll do whatever you need to keep them.” He ignores how Andrés’ face has blanched, his eyes glittering dangerously, and gestures around at the bar. “And then you drag everyone into your spectacle, all to prove that someone loves you - you’re pathetic.”

Andrés’ mouth has flattened out into a thin line of anger and Martín knows he has gone too far, just like he knows that his words have hit at the very core of Andrés’ pride – a small, soft part of himself that Martín would wager only he and Sergio have any knowledge of.

“Pathetic,” Andrés says slowly, enunciating every syllable. “Is that what you call it? Yet only one of us seems to be wasting away their days with a string of hook-ups, unable to keep anyone around.”

“Have you ever considered that it’s by choice?” Martín asks.

Andrés laughs, but it’s cold and humourless. “By choice, of course. You forget that I know all about your choices Martín, and your lack of self-worth, so spare me the histrionics. Whatever the reasons may be, you’re still going to remain a lonely, bitter man until you eventually drink yourself to death - or finally find the courage to step off the ledge I’ve pulled you away from too often since we’ve known each other.”

Martín nods, jaw tight, hating the way he can already feel tears stinging his eyes. “Well, I’m glad to know how you truly feel – it’s taken you longer than I thought it would. I’m sorry you’ve wasted so much time on me, I assure you, you won’t have to waste any more.”

His glass slips from his numb fingers, clattering to the floor where it smashes. He doesn’t wait to see if anyone is going to clean it up, shouldering his way through the crowd which is buzzing with anticipation for the imminent countdown to the new year. He pushes past Sergio when he appears in front of him, a worried expression on his face, Julie behind him.

Outside the bar, he asks the valet to call him a taxi and he sits down on the curb when he’s told it will be at least thirty minutes. There’s a flash of sound as the door behind him opens and then there are footsteps, someone crossing the pavement to settle beside him.

“What are you doing?” Andrés asks.

Martín looks at his shoes. Next to Andrés’ impossibly expensive suede loafers, they look cheap and scruffy. “I’m waiting for a taxi to take me back to the house so I can pack, but apparently there aren’t any to be had right now.”

“It’s the busiest night of the year,” Andrés says. “You need to pre-book. Especially this early in the night”

Martín sniffs. “I hadn’t planned on leaving so early.”

Andrés sighs. “Where are you going to go?”

“I don’t know, maybe back to Argentina. I haven’t been in a while.”

“Your family won’t want to see you,” Andrés says. “There’s nothing for you there.”

“Nothing for me here either.”

Andrés is silent and Martín waits for him to get up and leave. He doesn’t. His knee nudges against Martín’s and one hand comes to grip his. Martín frowns, watching Andrés thread their fingers together.

“Don’t leave,” Andrés says quietly and Martín nods, not trusting himself to speak.

There’s a rise in the noise level from inside, and somewhere in the city there’s a church clock chiming.

“Happy New Year, Andrés,” Martín says quietly.

“Happy New Year,” Andrés returns and then he’s disentangling their fingers and getting to his feet.

Martín doesn’t watch him go, but he can imagine him returning to the bar and kissing Julie – his first kiss of the new year.

* * *

**III**

The gang is drunk off their faces. Absolutely smashed. The joyous, energised revelry from earlier in the evening has petered out, leaving the sloppy drunkenness that Martín knows Andrés finds distasteful.

Helsinki and Bogotá are already asleep, passed out in their deckchairs, an empty bottle of forty-year-old scotch between them – apparently unable to make it to midnight. Denver and Stockholm are slow-dancing to europop club music while Manila and Tokyo throw grapes at them, and Rio and Marseille are stood knee deep in the ocean doing god-knows-what. He looks over at Andrés, who is deep in conversation with Sergio, Raquel, and Nairobi. Martín hesitates to join them, hovering on the fringes of their little circle, two sweating glasses of champagne in his hands.

All of a sudden, Andrés turns to look at him. The frown on his face melts away in favour of a fond smirk and he tilts his head questioningly.

Martín waves away his concern and joins them, handing Andrés his champagne. Nairobi had taken advantage of his absence to steal his chair, so he settles himself on the next best thing – Andrés’ lap. Immediately, an arm snakes its way around his waist and kiss is pressed to his neck.

Nairobi rolls her eyes at the PDA. “You can’t save it for when you’re alone?”

“Just because your husband passed out before midnight,” Martín snarks and he doesn’t have to look to know Andrés is smiling.

“Oh leave them be,” Raquel says with a smile loosened by copious amounts of red wine.

There’s a beeping noise and Sergio turns off his digital watch, which – when Martín turns his head – he can see Andrés eyeing distastefully.

“One minute till midnight,” Sergio announces.

“Any last wishes for the new year?” Raquel asks.

Nairobi smiles softly. “I’m hoping for a baby.”

“Health and happiness for everyone,” Raquel says and there’s a little crease over her nose that means she’s thinking of her mother.

“No more fucking heists,” Martín says and he can feel Andrés’ laughter as if it’s his own.

“It’s time,” Sergio says, a little smile on his face. “Ten, nine,”

He starts the chant and everyone else joins in – except for Helsinki and Bogota who remain blissfully asleep.

“Happy New Year, mi amor,” Andrés says in his ear and Martín twists in his arms so he can lean down and kiss him.

“Happy New Year,” Martín murmurs against his lips. “To many more together.”

Andrés pulls away and they clink their glasses together in a private toast. “To all the remaining ones being spent together.”

**Author's Note:**

> happy new year when it's time to all of you - i hope 2021 only has good things in store for us all!!!
> 
> i'd love kudos/comments or as always, you can yell at me on on tumblr ([@hefellfordean](https://hefellfordean.tumblr.com)) or twitter ([@angstypalermo](https://twitter.com/angstypalermo))


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